


A Daryl Dixon Love Story

by Macs_Baby_Girl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Nsfw content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2499053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macs_Baby_Girl/pseuds/Macs_Baby_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says. Contains smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Daryl Dixon Love Story

Title: A Daryl Dixon Love Story  
Category: TV Shows » Walking Dead  
Author: Missus MacManus  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: M  
Genre: Romance/Horror  
Published: 10-14-14, Updated: 10-14-14  
Chapters: 1, Words: 9,198  
Chapter 1: Chapter 1  
Untitled  
Glenn and Maggie inadvertently save a young woman from a walker whilst on their second pharmacy raid. Turns out she can cook well enough, and with a weapon in her hand she's not a bad shot… trouble is she's a woman, and in this new walker-infested world, being important to someone is a liability… she's about to become one hell of a liability to a certain crossbow-toting bad boy.

Prologue: The Find

She thought she was done for when they turned up; the walker had knocked her baseball bat out of reach. She'd made a six-and-a-half hour drive from New Orleans to the outskirts of Atlanta, in a stolen car that stank of death, walked the last fifty miles when she ran out of gas, and now she was cornered? By a single fucking walker no less. Angel McKinney wasn't having a good day.

Still, she'd been pretty lucky so far; driving at ridiculous speeds, stopping for gas only once, where it was safe, taking out two walkers who had been roaming the highway and popped out at her when she had pulled over to survey the path ahead. A baseball bat wasn't exactly a choice weapon for a zombie apocalypse, but hey, it was all she had. Besides, the bat was lucky. Angel had owned it since she was ten years old – a gift from her grandfather. Nine years later, she sure as hell appreciated it.

"Bad fuckin' day to die," she muttered.

She had already sort of given up when the sound of feet and metal-on-flesh assaulted her eardrums. One eye cautiously opened.

Two young people – a woman with brown hair wearing a cowboy hat, and a thin Asian man in a baseball cap – stared down at her.

"You get bit?" the woman asked.

"Nope," Angel let them haul her to her feet, "but I sure as shit am glad to see you."

They carried backpacks, bulging with what Angel assumed were supplies.

"Pharmacy raid," the Asian guy explained, then added, "I'm Glenn, this is Maggie."

The woman cut in.

"A group of survivors are stayin' at my father's farm – you're welcome to come along."

Angel nodded gratefully.

"You alone?" the woman – Maggie – asked. She nodded again.

"Where you from?"

"New Orleans."

"How the fu- I mean, how did you get here?" Glenn asked as Angel climbed up behind Maggie on her horse.

"Stole a car. Stopped for gas once. Took out two walkers on the last fifty mile trek – had to walk it." Angel shrugged.

"Badass," Glenn nodded approvingly.

One: New Arrival: Angel POV  
The ride was perhaps a mile, maybe less. The camp was small – in total maybe fifteen people. But still, that was more than I had seen in my few weeks of solitude.

Fifty miles is a long way to walk, especially with limited supplies and energy. But I made it, and the reward of hot food and a warm shower, made it totally worth it.

One of my fellow survivors, Andrea, gave me a clean shirt to wear. I thanked her and paired it with my spare cargo pants that had been in my backpack.

Once I was clean, I got a half-assed introduction to everyone at camp from Rick Grimes, who had been (or still was?) a cop. I use past tense because who the hell knows if this new world even needs cops.

He was clearly the leader there, much to the resentment of the other cop, Shane, who claimed to be Rick's best friend.

The way he looked at Rick's wife, however, told a different story – he was clearly resentful about a lot of things.

Introductions over, I was put to work shelling peas with Carol, whose daughter had gone missing.

Probably a walker by now, I thought grimly, but I didn't dare say it. That would be the last thing she needed to hear, true though it might be.

I'd stayed in New Orleans for one reason – Jenna, my niece. I'd kept us moving after my brother and his wife died – Sally became a walker. Ben shot her, and then opted out. Selfish bastard. At least he dumped Jenna in my arms beforehand.

She was six years old.

Despite all our running, our hiding, my careful planning and strategies, she'd gotten sick. Epileptic. She'd had a seizure, choked on her own tongue despite my best efforts, and then she'd come back.

It had taken a while; I'd started to hope she wouldn't come back at all. Or that she was just knocked out.

It took her four hours, but she came back.

I'd half wanted to kill myself after I took her out with the bat. The damned bat. I could have at least stolen a gun from somewhere.

I stayed hidden that night, then I'd run for it.

There was no way I was going back there.

"You okay?" Carol asked, and I realized she was gripping my hand – I was shaking.

"Yeah," I said, "just… thinking."

"Husband?" she asked gently.

"Niece," I replied, remembering how I'd cut a lock of Jenna's hair whilst she slept one night, hidden it in my necklace. I'd almost known, even then, that she wouldn't make it.

Her expression turned sad.

"How old?"

"Six," I said, "She came back… I had to…" I stopped. Carol had a missing daughter. She didn't need to hear this shit.

We worked in silence until I felt a little better. Rick's wife, Lori, came over to help. This was a good choice; she initiated small talk and we lost ourselves in it. I felt almost like I was on some camping trip for a small while.

The roar of a motorcycle dragged me from my reverie. Startled, I looked up.

"Relax," Carol said, a small smile tugging at her lips, "walkers can't ride motorcycles."

I couldn't help but laugh at the idea of a walker trying to get about on a chopper. Instead I turned my sight to the man – definitely a man – riding the bike.

He pulled up next to the RV, a slightly arrogant smirk perpetually settled on his face. He wore jeans and a ripped shirt, his dirty brown hair was cut in jagged lines around his face, and his eyes gleamed with a sort of volatile amusement and a barely-hidden promise of violence. So he was dangerous, then. Dangerous and cute.

He carried a crossbow – a big, lethal lookin' thing, slung casually across his back. And damn, did he have some muscles. I mentally shook myself.

He didn't seem the sort of guy who would be down with huggin' and kissin'. Nah, his entire aura radiated danger and recklessness.

He noticed me shamelessly gawking and smirked a cocky smirk.

"Fresh bait, Rick?" he called out in a very redneck-sounding Southern drawl.

I flipped him off. Okay so maybe he wasn't perfect.

Without waiting for a reply from Rick, he dropped the crossbow into the grass and sauntered over to us.

"No sign of her, Carol, I'm real sorry. I'll try to go further tomorrow."

He'd been out looking for Carol's daughter, Sophia, then. Alone? That was stupid. And brave.

"Where'd this one pop up from?" he spared me a fleeting glance.

Why couldn't I be slightly prettier? I was pale, my hair was (dyed) jet black, and my eyes were a disappointing shade of something cross between mud and shit.

"Glenn and Maggie saved my ass from a walker when they did a pharmacy run," I said.

"A single walker?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It disarmed me," I stated defensively, "not all of us carry a big fuckin' crossbow."

To my surprise, he cracked a grin.

"Fair point."

He paused.

"Got a name?"

"Angel."

"That's a strange name." He was smirking again, "Ma'am," he tacked on, as if to stifle the slight rudeness of his comment.

Ma'am? I tried not to do something stupid like blush.

"I didn't choose it." Nah credit for that goes to my heroin addict father.

"Allow me to suggest an alternative?"

"I don't got a choice, do I?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Naw," he grinned, "I'm gon' call you babydoll."

Okay. I liked that, but I sure as shit wasn't going to admit that to him.

"Fine. You got a name, mister?"

He picked up the crossbow again, slung it across his shoulders.

"I ain't no 'mister'," he said sharply, "name's Daryl."

And with that he was off, loping across the camp towards the barn.

I, stupidly, found myself staring after him.

"Yeah," Lori said, "He's always like that."

"He's…" I stopped.

"An ass?" Carol offered.

"A rude jerk?" Lori suggested.

"Actually I was gonna say he's damn fine, but yeah, that works too." I shrugged, ignoring the looks the two women exchanged.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two: Barn Buddies  
"What's in the barn?" I asked distractedly a couple days later.

"Walkers," Glenn shuddered.

I nearly dropped the mug of weak tea that Lori had just given me.

"Did y'all just say walkers?"

"Yeah. Hershel thinks they're just sick people… doesn't wanna put 'em down."

"I gotta see this," I muttered. I picked up my bat and started off towards the barn, ignoring the looks Carol and Lori gave each other for the second time in roughly half an hour.

When I got down to the barn, Daryl was sitting on an old tractor, swigging something from a glass bottle wrapped in paper.

"That water?" I asked skeptically; it didn't smell like vodka.

"Naw," he replied, "moonshine."

Whoa. Serious redneck.

"That shit slows you down," I informed him, hopping up onto the front of the tractor beside him.

He shrugged.

"Don't see any walkers. I'll be fine."

"I see a barn that's reputably full of them," I said lightly.

He grinned slightly.

"You scared, Angel?"

"Naw," I grinned back, "Lemme at 'em."

He grimaced.

"Good luck with that. The good doc Hershel reckons they're just sick." He spit on the ground, "sick my ass. They ain't gettin' any better, and they sure as shit ain't gonna kill 'emselves."

"So why don'cha shoot 'em?" my own stupid Southern drawl was slipping back.

"Guest rules. We shoot 'em, we get told to take a hike. Nobody wants to risk that shit."

Fair call.

He offered me the bottle.

"Where'd you even get this?" I asked.

He tipped me a wink.

"Neighborin' farm."

I took the bottle, sniffed it, and then took a cautious sip.

"It ain't gasoline, girl." he seemed almost irate at my caution.

"I know that," I frowned, "just can't tell for sure whether you're a crazy asshole or not."

I passed the bottle back to him. He took a swig before he answered.

"Asshole? Yeah. Crazy? Naw."

"How many walkers y'reckon are in there?" I asked as we passed the bottle between us.

He shrugged.

"Dozen, maybe a couple more?"

"Doesn't that bother you?" I wanted to add that it sure bothered me, but I didn't want him to think I was a total wimp.

"Nah."

"You're kidding?"

"Nah. They're in there, they can't hurt us." He tossed the bottle on the ground. It shattered.

"C'mon. It's probably food time. Someone else can take watch." He shouldered his crossbow then looked dubiously at my stupidly short frame, perched on the tractor. How the hell had I gotten up here again? I figured I must have looked real stupid, 'cause he rolled his eyes at me, reached up and grabbed me by the forearms, and hauled me down. He wasn't exactly gentle about it, but to be fair I wasn't sure he knew his own strength.

"Thanks."

He didn't reply, just led the way back to camp, mumbling something about midget girls with baseball bats and how the hell did they survive, etc.

I tried to stifle a grin, and, rather annoyingly, found myself thinking how nice his ass looked in those tight jeans.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three: Roomies  
I swear to God, Lori and Carol were trying to set me up. Carol slept in the RV, and Lori slept in a tent with Rick and Carl, and there hadn't been, apparently, anywhere to put me except in the same damn tent as Daryl. The first night, I'd slept outside in just a sleeping bag, on the roof of the RV, determined not to encroach on his space.

By the fourth night, I ended up freezing my ass off and hauling my shit over to Daryl's camp.

Dumping my stuff next to the fire, I was just preparing to settle down for the night when he called out, rather gruffly, "c'mon in here, y'all are gonna freeze otherwise."

I hesitated, then dragged my shit into the tent.

"I gotta share with a damn broad now?" he grumbled when I stretched out on the opposite side of the shelter.

I flipped him off.

"No funny business, mister," I wagged a finger at him, checked my bat was within reach, and then tried my best to sleep.

Guess I started having nightmares again, 'cause I woke up just after dawn to find a pair of arms wrapped tightly around me and a now-familiar face peering down at me.

"Walker get ya in yer sleep?" Daryl practically grinned down at me.

"Um." I was probably white as… well… a walker.

"I'm joking, doll," his arms loosened, "you okay?"

"Nightmare?" I asked, embarrassed.

"Yeah. Clamped my hand over yer mouth before ya woke everyone up an' told every damn walker fer miles where we are." He sounded angry but his eyes softened somewhat as he sat me up.

"Yer a'right."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Don't get all fuckin' gooey on me." he says gruffly.

Okay, so he wasn't the nicest asshole I ever met, and he sure as shit was rude to pretty much everyone, but right then he was the most goddamn perfect human being I'd ever seen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Four: After The Massacre: Arms  
The sixth night, we're all raw from the massacre. The entire group is divided over whether they should or shouldn't have shot all the barn walkers dead. Personally, I think it was right.

I didn't take part in the shootin', but when Shane asked Daryl whether he would 'protect what was his' and Daryl had nodded and loaded his crossbow, his eyes hadn't left me.

But all those dead people…

And Sophia… god, that was awful.

We keep our distance from Hershel's family. God knows we've done enough.

Carol sits by herself inside the RV, naturally in a messed up state. Daryl took her a blanket and some tea, but I don't think it helped much.

There was some real nasty shit last night; Rick, Glenn and Hershel got holed up in a bar in town, and when they came back, they were carryin' a half-dead guy.

I couldn't stand to be around them, so I slunk off back to the tent I'd been forced into sharing with Daryl, intending to read the bible that Hershel's youngest daughter, Beth, had lent me.

I found Daryl sitting outside, skinning rabbits.

"You shoot those?"

"Yeah." He is distracted.

"Waste of bullets." I say softly, "Killin' shit that don't need killin'."

"Naw, used a clean arrow." He waves it at me haphazardly.

"It ain't your fault." I say suddenly.

"Will ya just fuck off, woman?" the anger in his voice is clear, but I don't think it's me he's truly pissed at, "dumb bitch." He adds under his breath.

His words hurt, but I don't reply, just duck into the tent and change into the oversized shirt I got given to wear. Silently, I bury myself under the blanket. Winter is close, I realize, and out here we're at mercy of the elements. Maybe we can move into the main house…

I lie there silently until Daryl comes in. I realize I'm lying where he usually sleeps.

"Fuckin' broads," I hear him mutter, the thump of his belt buckle hitting the floor as he presumably undresses, "always in my fuckin' way. Ain't nobody's fuckin' babysitter."

I do feel kinda bad. I mean, he made camp a little way away from everyone else for a reason, but given that there wasn't room for me at the main camp, I did kinda get dumped on him. I'm in his space, I realize, and I shouldn't take that for granted.

"Want me to move?" I ask.

He eyes me for a second, clearly having assumed I was sleeping. I see something that resembles guilt flicker in his eyes – he knows I heard everything he said.

"Naw, just move over and shut up."

I do as he says, turning to face the 'wall' of the tent. Maybe I should have moved – this is a little too cozy…

Seconds later I can feel his warmth right beside me, muscled chest and stomach pressed against my back. I fight the desire to turn over, bury my face in his chest… but then his arms lock around me.

"What am I, a teddy bear?" I ask sardonically. Secretly I don't mind at all. I didn't take him for a hugger. Turns out he is.

"Shuddup," he grumbles, "more comfortable this way. That and if you start screeching in your sleep I can shut you up faster."

I somehow don't think the nightmares will come, not tonight, not whilst he's holding me and all I can smell is his scent – gasoline and pine needles and blood.

I lose the battle with myself and turn over, hands flat against his chest.

"You are such an ass," I say, because I figure that's the smartest thing to say whilst my face is practically buried in his chest. Makes it less familiar.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta be," I feel him shrug, "Ain't my fault that li'l girl was in that damn barn. Ain't my fault she's dead."

I find myself nodding.

"You're right, it ain't your fault. You did all you could," my tone is an attempt at soothing.

Very briefly, we look at each other, my plain mud-brown eyes meeting his grey-blue orbs. Somehow, strangely, a simple glance turns into a heated kiss. His arms already locked around me, I loop mine around his neck.

His hands, callused but surprisingly gentle, go to the hem of the shirt I wear. There is a pause, he looks at me, questioning. He is many things, that's for sure. But he is, somewhere under his exterior, a Southern gentleman. So I nod and let him strip away the single piece of clothing between my skin and his.

Our mouths meet again, his tongue slipping into my mouth, my hands buried in his hair.

"God," he half-mumbles, "you're beautiful."

I laugh at that, wondering if he means it or whether he's just sayin' it.

"Yeah right," I snort, "I'm average at best."

"Shaddup."

"Or what?" I taunt.

"I'll make ya." He seems very matter-of-fact.

"Good luck."

I immediately regret that sentence; he kisses me hard, his hands roaming my naked skin.

"Daryl!" I whimper, "someone's gonna hear us."

He chuckles.

"D'ya really give a damn?" he growls in my ear.

I consider it. The answer is no.

I don't answer verbally though; my hands go to his pants. He laughs again.

"Eager, are ya?" he's taunting me, but he lets me undress him anyway.

"Fuck off," I say, but I can't really put any venom behind it whilst his hands roam my body again. They settle on my breasts, roughly massaging and pinching my nipples.

I feel his arousal against my thigh; unconsciously I part my legs for him.

"You sure you want this?"

It's a question, despite us lying here naked in each other's arms…

"Shut up and fuck me, Daryl Dixon," I whisper, and he slips inside me.

His rough, callused hands settle at my waist; mine remain around his neck, in his messy hair. He moves slowly at first, but when he realises I won't break, he becomes a little rougher, thrusting deeper and harder with every movement, his hands knotting into my hair, pulling it.

"You like that?" his voice is a husky whisper in my ear. His lips trail down my throat; he bites my neck and I sigh.

"Mm-hmm," is the best I can do as a reply; if I tried to speak, I knew I'd moan. Probably loudly.

"You sure?" I can hear the smirk in his voice as the last syllable of his question is punctuated by a particularly deep, hard thrust.

"Yes! Oh… Yes, Daryl, yes…"  
Well. There goes my plan to not make a sound. I look up at Daryl and see him smirking. Ass. Oh well; he's got me started now, and he's taken my noise as a cue to add his own growls and deep groans to the soprano of my cries.

If I wasn't so lost in his arms, I would feel sorry for whoever the hell was sleeping near us… or… not sleeping, given our noise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Five: After The Massacre: Morning After  
I wake in his arms, thankfully wearing the oversized shirt I had originally intended to sleep in. My entire body aches, a dull, good ache.

"Didn't mean t' wake ya," Daryl says and I shrug.

"Where you goin'?" I ask sleepily.

"Someone's gotta interrogate that asshole Rick dragged back here. He figured I'm the best man fer the job."

He eases me from his arms, stands, and dresses. I try not to stare too shamelessly, which I suddenly realize is kinda stupid, considering what we did last night.

"Umm… about last night…" I don't know whether to dismiss it as a one-time thing, though we both know it won't be. Do I address it as a casual encounter type thing? Or do I mention that I'd rather he keep me around?

I'm spared the decision.

"Let's not talk about it, a'right?" his voice is gruff, "some things in this damn world need an element of surprise, don't ya think?"

"Surprise?" I repeat.

"Just see where this goes, a'right? Don't go expectin' romance and shit. I ain't like that."

"I know," I say, "and that's okay."

It is okay, surprisingly. He isn't tender or romantic – he fucks like an animal and kisses like a starving man, but I find I wouldn't want him any other way.

"Okay."

Then he does a surprising thing; he leans down, almost gently grabs my face in his hands, and kisses me on the forehead.

"Go do somethin' useful," he calls out as he walks away.

I lie there for a moment, lost in the memory of the previous night… Shit. It hits me suddenly. He didn't pull out. Immediately I think of Lori and her condition. Eh. Chances of that happening are quite slim. Besides, I'm feeling too good right now to think about that. The soft, good ache still courses through my body.

I want him again, I realize. But I can't stop thinking about Lori's little predicament, and it gets my mind racing, so I get up and look for my shirts. Damn. They're both hanging out to dry; still sopping wet. Frowning, I pull on my usual cargo pants and glance around for an alternative.

Aha. Daryl left his shirt from last night on the floor – the long sleeved one. It's quite big on me, but it'll do. I tie a little knot at the bottom, mutter something about Country Chic, grab my bat, and head for the main camp.

It's a three-minute walk, even less at a jog. On the way, I try to tame my hair, but it refuses.

I turn up at the main camp with my hair an even bigger mess than it originally was. As soon as I find a log to sit on in the circle, I dig out my pocketknife and turn to Lori.

"Can you cut my hair?"

"Umm… sure."

Lori takes my dyed jet-black hair, twists it into a ponytail, and then cuts it off.

She cuts it to sit above my shoulders. Much better. I thank her, which she doesn't expect, and mumbles something about how she's never cut a girl's hair before, and she hopes it's alright. I reassure her with another smile. She's done some stupid shit, I think, but she's alright, really.

I realize a whole lot of the group is staring at me.

"What?" I ask most likely a tad aggressively.

"You run outta clothes or something?" Andrea smirks at me, though something unpleasant lurks behind her eyes. Jealousy, maybe?

"Yeah," I say truthfully.

I reckon half the group buys into my half-bullshit, but Carol and Lori give me you-aren't-fooling-us-missy looks.

Lori quietly approaches me as I start washing the clothes by hand in a big tub Maggie lent us.

"Do you need pills?"

"What kinda pills?" I eye her dubiously.

"Y'know… for… after?"

"Nah."

That has never been an option for me, still isn't, despite the whole 'end of the world' thing. She looks baffled, like I'm insane, but she doesn't push it.

I get stuck into the chores, looking as innocent as possible despite the fact that I'm clearly wearing a certain crossbow-toting, cussword-fond redneck's shirt.

I get so stuck into the chores that I'm doing that I don't realize he's back from 'visiting' the prisoner until he's done speaking with the group and comes sneaking up behind me.

He grabs me by the waist, arms wrapping around my middle, and kisses my neck, gently biting the soft skin. I shriek my head off and drop the shirt I was scrubbing, thinking a walker got to me.

"Whoa there, just me!" Daryl says while the others hoot with laughter. He doesn't remove his arms.

"Everyone's gonna see," I whisper at him.

"You 'shamed of me?"

"No," I say fiercely, "I just didn't think, y'know, we were a thing, just 'cause we… y'know… did it."

"Ever heard of friends with benefits?" I can feel his smirk against my neck.

"Yeah," I say, "But I didn't think you were like that."

He shrugs, "I don't like gettin' close to people. You're different."

I find myself grinning.

"You, Mr Dixon, are full of surprises," I love the way his name sounds coming from my mouth, my Southern accent caressing it.

"Well then, let 'em stare." He's full on grinning now.

I turn to face him. He's got blood on his hands and face. It's not his own blood though.

"What did you do?"

"Talked to him a little," he drawls.

I arch an eyebrow but say nothing.

"Outta clothes, huh?" Andrea hollers from the RV roof. I go to flip her off but Daryl beats her to it, then just to make a statement, he kisses me right in front of everyone. He ain't shy about it neither. It's a proper kiss, deep and slow and sensual. I liked to think I was pretty badass, but I melted. I realized later on it wasn't a show of love or affection, but more a show of possession. I didn't care.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Six: Uninvited Guests.  
As Daryl had said, he doesn't do romance or any of that shit. But he kisses me occasionally, holds me at night, and treats me nicer than any of the others. We don't exactly have a lot of time together, but the time we do get is spent talking, arguing, kissing, killing walkers, and shamelessly fucking. Which we do a lot, despite our limited time together during the days and nights.

I don't know if it's desire, desperation to be close to someone, or something real. But we go on Daryl's rules and we don't talk about it. We just go with it. Because we don't know when one of us – or both – could be dead (or undead).

His kisses become softer and have an element of tenderness to them these days, but he's still totally animalistic in bed. I have since come to the conclusion that he doesn't know how to be gentle and romantic when it comes to sex – he will pull my hair and bite my neck, and he won't be fond of snuggling afterwards. If he does hold me it's to keep my night terrors at bay, but I've found I don't need him to hold me anymore. Just his presence keeps me grounded.

"Surprised you ain't fuckin' one of them cop guys," Daryl says when I meet him on the porch after he returns from his search for Randall, Glenn in tow.

"Why would I?"

"Good thing you ain't – one of them's a murderin' bastard."

I stare at him, but before I can say anything he glances over his shoulder, curses, grabs my wrist and pulls me inside the house.

"What's goin' on?" I holler as he drags me into the main room.

"Y'all are gonna wanna see this." he says to the room at large, pointing out the windows. They all look and I follow suit.

That's when I see 'em. A giant horde of walkers heading straight for us.

"T, grab the guns," Andrea says. The hulking African-American guy nods. Thank god we moved into the main house…

"Everyone should split up. Kill as many as possible in small groups from the porch and the cars, then use the vehicles to escape." It's the first I've heard Hershel say for ages.

Everyone agrees on it.

"Hey, new girl!" Andrea tosses me a rifle and ammo, "just a bat ain't gonna be much use out there."

"Thanks." I call back, and turn to see Daryl counting arrows, checking his crossbow. Everyone pairs up into groups of two or three. Andrea offers to take me but Daryl has none of it, particularly when Andrea grabs my arm a little too hard.

"Touch her again, I'll blow your damn arm off," he growls, grabs my hand, and drags me over to his motorcycle, sits me down on the seat, and kisses my forehead.

"A'right, doll, this is how it's gonna be. I'm gonna be up front with a gun and my bow. I want you to cover our back and sides. Can ya do that?" his hands rest on either side of my face.

I've never seen so many walkers before. Perhaps my fear shows.

"Ya can do it. I know ya can. I need ya to know ya can." His eyes search mine and I nod.

"I gotcha back," I say, and before he can pull away to hop on in front of me I grab him by the lapels on his jacket and kiss him hard.

"Don't you go fuckin' dyin' on me, Mister Dixon," I say.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He grins and hops on in front of me.

"Hold tight, Angel."

I do.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Seven: Over-Run  
It's chaos. Complete and total chaos. Someone set the barn alight, and I've never ridden on a motorcycle before. Luckily Daryl doesn't try something stupid like shooting at walkers whilst still moving.

However, I find that, as long as my gun is loaded, I can shoot with one hand and keep the other firmly gripping Daryl's jacket.

"We're gonna die." I say.

"Don't you say that," he snaps back.

He's right. We don't die. But the farm is over-run and we have to leave.

We're on the main road when we hear the screams.

"Fuckin' hell," Daryl mutters, but he turns the bike around nonetheless and we go back for Carol.

"C'mon, we ain't got all day!" he bellows at her as I grab her hand and drag her onto the bike behind me. Lucky she and I are quite thin and small – it's still a damn squash though. But it sure beats being left behind.

It takes us a while to catch up with the others, but when the already-amassed group sees us coming they give great whoops and laughs. The other women gather around Carol, and there are tears and reunions. I just sit silently behind Daryl, resting my head on his shoulder.

That night we stop at a ruined building of some sort. One of the cars is out of gas and nobody wants to split up. There is a big fight; everyone seems to be disrespecting Rick's authority and doubting his judgment. Lori's mad because he killed Shane in self-defense. This makes my mouth twist in confusion – I swear I heard her say she wanted him out the way, before he tried to kill Rick.

I say nothing; just busy myself in the corner, fixing the tarp in my backpack up to provide a little shelter and privacy from the others. I don't want them to see me freaking out, let alone if I wake up in the night from the night terrors; they could mistake me for a walker and shoot me.

I kind of expect Daryl to stay with the bulk of the group, who are circled around the fire. Several people take watch at a time, and I can't sleep anyway, so when Daryl offers to take one of the free corners, I follow him, armed with my baseball bat.

He sits on the ledge overlooking the darkness, one leg swinging over the edge casually.

"Think there's heaps of 'em out there?" I ask, settling myself beside him.

"Probably. But as long as they stay far away from us, we won't have an issue." He shrugs.

"What do you think of all the arguments?" I whisper.

"Carol's wrong," he replies in a low voice, "Rick does what he does for the good of the group. We gotta trust him. He's kept us alive this far. But I can see why she's afraid."

"I trust him," I say, "I just wanted to know how y'all feel about all this."

Fighting to keep my eyes open, I rest my head on his shoulder, taking comfort from his now-familiar smell of gasoline and pine needles.

"It's gonna be a quiet one." He says in passing to Rick when we swap over shifts. The Sheriff shakes his head.

"Don't get complacent." He warns.

We go back to the makeshift area I made earlier. Everyone who isn't on watch is sleeping. As soon as we're hidden by the tarp and Daryl has set his crossbow against the wall, I crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him.

He kisses back for a fraction of a second and then pulls away, holds me by the shoulders and gives me an are-you-sure-now-is-a-good-time look.

"Please," I whisper, "I need you."

That's all it takes; his hands move from my shoulders to the sides of my face as his lips meet mine once more.

Unlike the first time, (and admittedly many other times), we are silent. My hands silently trace a line from his chest to his pants, which I waste no time in unzipping. My own pants don't come all the way off either; luckily I'm still wearing my cargo pants and not the other pair I own (which are incredibly tight skinny jeans. Yeah. I totally put thought into my wardrobe for the fuckin' apocalypse. Not).

His hands roam my body freely though and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a single sound.

"Won't you get tired of me soon?" I ask softly as he enters me. I think of Beth; she's only a little younger than me and she's a hell of a lot sweeter; if we were pie, she'd be cherry-and-sugar, and I'd be some sort of sour lemon.

"The hell you mean?" Daryl replies.

I shrug.

"There are prettier girls among our company."

"Like who?"

"Like Beth."

"Beth?" he looks surprised, "Naw, she's a sweet girl, reminds me that some good people survived. But no… not like that, I mean, Christ, she's just a girl."

"Oh."

He studies me for a moment.

"Is that jealousy I see there, doll?" he smirks at me, doesn't give me a chance to reply, "Because last I checked, Angel, it's you I'm holdin' right now."

He starts to move inside me.

"I'd say you're doin' a lot more than just holdin' me," I say cheekily.

"Smartass," he says, then he savagely devours my lips and sets a rough, deep pace that, had I not been afraid of being caught or attracting walkers, would have had me screaming.

As it was, his low growls in my ear and the filthy words that spilled from his lips had me whimpering his name.

"Fuck, Angel, yer so fuckin' tight, I'm gonna fuck you til I'm the only person you'll ever want…"

"Please," I moaned, "Daryl… yes… oh…"

He is not gentle; we do not 'make love'. The best way to describe it is 'fucking' – he is animalistic, every deep, rough thrust hitting the sweet spot inside of me, the tip of him brushing the entrance to my womb.

I ball my fists in his shirt as we come together; I feel his seed deep inside of me.

Both of us breathing heavily, we adjust our clothes and lie down together, trying to sleep and wondering what will come next.

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Eight: Winter: Discovery  
It's sometime during the winter that I realize I haven't had a period since the farm. When Glenn and Maggie venture out to get supplies, I ask them, like Lori did, to get me something from a pharmacy or a grocery store.

They deliver.

"Lori?" I whisper whilst everyone is huddling together, "Can you c'mere for a sec?"

She comes over without question, averts her eyes while I pee, and then holds my hand whilst I wait for the little window to either develop a plus or a minus symbol.

It is precisely as I thought; when I uncover my eyes, I find I can't look, but Lori's sudden gasp tells me all I need to know. I glance at it anyway; a little pink plus symbol stares back.

I am carrying Daryl's child.

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Nine: Winter: Confession  
I swear Lori to secrecy. Lucky for me, she's been through the exact same shit; only it's not exactly 100% clear who her baby daddy is. Between the two of us we work out that I'm about eight weeks behind her roughly, making me four months along. Roughly.

"You can't keep it from him," Lori says softly, noticing the way my eyes rarely leave Daryl, "not like I did with Rick."

"He'll be angry," I say.

"Why would he be angry, sweetie?" Lori puts a hand on my shoulder, "He loves you. Don't deny it – just because he doesn't say it, we all know it's true. He might be afraid, but aren't we all?"

She's right there. Still, she has to give me a decent pep talk and a small poke, eventually resorting to threats, before I go over to Daryl, who has just returned from gathering firewood.

I sidle over to him, gently touch his arm. He automatically snatches his arm out of reach, turning around with the intent to, most likely, stab someone, when he realises it's only me.

"Fer cryin' out loud woman!" Daryl seethes, "You tryin'a get ya'self killed?"

I make a gesture of surrender. Lori was wrong, I think grimly, he don't love me.

"Actually," I say, "I need to talk to you. Like, now."

He eyes me for a second then grabs my wrist and drags me away from the others by a little bit.

"You get bit? You sick?" he asks, trying to sound calm but the stress breaking through.

"No," I say, "no, nothing like that."

I bite my lip, watch as his brows furrow. Figuring he won't understand, I grab his hands and set them on my slightly rounded stomach.

Several emotions conflict on his face in rapid succession; shock, something that looks like fear, then determination.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I nod. "Please don't be angry," I manage to whisper.

"I ain't gonna be any good at this shit," he says finally, though he doesn't remove his hands from my belly where our child grows.

"Bullshit," I say softly, "You ain't your daddy."

"You want this? You really wanna trust me with bein' a father to your kid?"

"Our kid," I say, "and of course I do."

"Why? I ain't exactly good at anythin' 'cept huntin' and pissing everyone off."

"That ain't true," I say and I kiss him lightly on the cheek, not sure whether the lips is a good idea just yet, "you're a walker killin' hero. Besides, I love you."

It's the first time I've said it out loud.

"Love is dangerous in this world," he says, "but hell, I've always been a danger magnet."

"What are you sayin'?"

"Y'know…" he looks almost embarrassed, his face going slightly red.

"I know," I say, because I know now that he feels it, he just can't say it yet.

"Please don't be mad about, y'know…" I pause, "the baby…"

"I ain't mad at you, babydoll. I'm afraid. What kinda life is this kid gonna have?"

"A good one. She'll have us to protect her."

His eyes meet mine, a serious expression on his face.

"Damn right she will. I ain't gonna stop until this world is safe for you. For both of you."

"So you're okay with it?"

"Ain't like I got a choice," he says, but I can tell he doesn't mean it negatively. He kneels down, both hands still resting on my stomach; he presses a tender kiss to where our child grows inside me. I can't help but cry.

"And hey," he says suddenly, giving me a tiny poke, "Who says it's gonna be a 'she'?"

I smile through my tears.

"I'unno. Just gotta feelin'," I say.

"Got any ideas fer a name?" he asks suddenly. I shake my head.

He grasps my hand and gently leads me back to the main camp, finally smiling.

We don't realize everyone was watchin' us until we walk the few meters back to the group and find them all staring at us.

"Another baby?" Carol says, "we're gonna need more supplies."

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Ten: New Beginning  
I'm not exactly fond of the idea of living in a prison, but given that I'm close to six months pregnant and Lori is almost two months ahead of me, we don't have a choice. Pregnant or not, however, I still carry a rifle and, despite his angry shouts to stay back, cover Daryl as we take down the walkers in the main courtyard.

Once we get settled, me in the closest cell to where Daryl has claimed as a sleeping space, he comes in to check on me. He finds me sitting on the bunk, my hands resting on my stomach, feeling our child move.

"What's wrong?" he drops to squat before me, his larger hands covering my own.

"I think it's too small. The baby," I say anxiously.

"No way of tellin' until it's born," Daryl says, "Though I'm sure he or she will be just fine."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Now I gotta go, Rick needs some help clearing the place out."

"Do you have to?" I practically whine at him. I hate being a whiny person, but god; I don't want him to go too far from me.

"Babydoll, you know I gotta."

"I know," I pull him to me, my hands slipping through the too-big arm holes of his vest, gently touching the deep scars on his back.

"Come back to me," I whisper against his lips.

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Eleven: Bonding  
I sit with Lori and Carol; sorting through what few supplies we have left. Lori has been panicking about death in childbirth. She tries not to talk about it.

"You don't need to hear this – don't want to pass my fears onto you," she says, swiping a few tears.

"Let it out," I say gently, "I ain't afraid of that."

She stares at me like I'm crazy.

"How can you not be?" she asks.

I shrug.

"If anything happens to me, I know I'll have the best protected kid in the world."

I don't need to add that not having a c-section greatly improves my chances.

"Thought of names yet?" Carol breaks the tension. Lori just shakes her head.

"I told Carl he could pick," she says.

"That's cute," Carol says and then her eyes train on me.

"I don't know," I say softly, "If it's a boy… I wanna name him after his daddy, but Daryl ain't fond of that idea."

Lori snorts slightly. I don't know whether to let it go or glare at her. I choose silence.

"What if it's a girl?"

"I like the idea of Sophia," I say at once, "for the lil' girl who brought me and Daryl together, but he ain't so keen."

Carol nods her approval.

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Twelve: Fear  
I wake up with a scream half-formed in my throat. In the semi-darkness I reach for Daryl, who I convinced to let me sleep out in the crow's nest with him.

His arms find me and he kisses my forehead, one hand cradling my stomach where our child is moving, distressed by my fear.

"Nightmare again?" the moonlight illuminates his face and chest. My fingers trace the tattoos on his chest first before I instinctively stroke the scars on his back. I nod.

"What this time?" his voice is soft, almost gentle.

"I lost you," I whisper, "and the baby."

He removes one of my hands from his back and places it on my stomach.

"She's still there," he says, "and so am I."

"Don't go."

"Never." His mouth finds mine.

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Thirteen: Unwelcome Guests  
The day begins with Daryl, Rick, T-Dog, Carol and I moving the vehicles inside. Daryl hollers for Maggie and Glenn, who appear from the watchtower, visibly embarrassed and half-dressed.

Daryl hollers an innuendo at them and then grins at me, a flirtatious li'l smirk that makes me weak in the knees.

We toss the two remaining prisoners out into the outer fence section, ignore their half-assed attempts at pleading, and I hop on the bike behind Daryl and hold tight.

"Today may just be a quiet one," I say hopefully, one hand going to my belly. At seven months pregnant, all I can hope for is peace.

"Don't count on it, babydoll," says Daryl, but he kisses my cheek and touches my belly gently as we go out the fences to collect firewood.

"Ey, Rick!" Daryl calls, "don't mean to be a pain in the ass, but we're gonna need to go on a run soon. Lori's gonna have that baby any day, and Angel ain't far off."

Rick nods.

"We'll get on it," he promises, eyes on me.

"Thank you," I say to Rick.

We spy Hershel walkin' on crutches, accompanied by Carl, Lori and Beth. We get complacent, start smiling and shit.

It's then that we see them.

"WALKERS!" Carl's boyish yell breaks the peace.

It still surprises me when it is me that Daryl looks to first.

"Get inside!"

"Hell no!" I call back, "I'm stayin' with you."

"The baby-" he starts but I cut him off with a look.

"I ain't leavin' you," I say firmly, and I reach for my gun.

By the time we reach the main courtyard, it's chaos. Lori, Maggie and Carl have fled one way, Carol and T-Dog another. Hershel and Beth are safe above us.

"What now man?" the two prisoners who have joined us ask Rick.

"We stick together."

And we do.

Daryl, Glenn and Rick take out the bulk of the walkers, me covering their backs. Axel and Oscar, the prisoners, tell us where to find the generators. Between the six of us, we keep looking until we find them – and the escaped prisoner Andrew.

It all happens very quickly then.

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Fourteen: Rebirth & Requiem  
We get back to the main courtyard, meet up with Beth and Hershel.

"We gotta go back in, look for Lori and Maggie, and Carl!" Rick says, "Glenn, Daryl, I need y'all."

I cut in.

"You ain't takin' him Rick. I'm sorry, but y'all can't." my hands are shaking as I cling to Daryl who, surprisingly, doesn't push me away.

Rick's response is drowned by the cry of a newborn baby.

We all turn to where the source of the noise is comin' from, see Maggie shaking from head to toe carrying a small bundle with Carl right beside her, shaking and crying and carrying a gun.

No sign of Lori. It's then that it registers what the bundle is.

"Oh God," I whisper as we witness Rick break down completely.

Maggie clings to Glenn and cries. Beth and Hershel stand in silent shock. To my surprise it's Daryl who speaks first, a gentle whisper in my ear.

"Go to Carl," he murmurs.

I stumble, afraid I'll fall, but I reach the boy who has just lost him mother.

"I gotcha," I say, wrap a shaking arm round his shoulders, try to ignore the father of my child yelling at everyone, because to be fair we all got shit to do, despite what's just happened, and we need to keep it together.

Rick goes storming off into the building where Lori died.

"Dad!" Carl calls after him. He gets ignored.

"We gotta focus on the baby," I tell Carl softly, and keeping an arm round him, I steer him over to where Hershel is now examining the baby. A girl.

"She's alright. But she needs formula," Hershel is saying.

"Um," Carl wipes his eyes on his sleeve, then tugs at mine.

"What is it, li'l dude?" I ask gently.

"You're all wet." Carl nods at me and I give a cry of terror.

Hershel and Daryl are beside me in seconds.

"We need to feed the other baby, or she'll die."

"No. No way, ain't either of these kids dying. I'm goin' on a run." Daryl hisses.

"I'll come." Maggie says at once.

I don't blame her. After seeing one traumatic birth, she ain't gonna want to see another one.

We crowd into Cell Block C, and I'm sitting down when the contractions start.

"Shit," Daryl hisses.

"You go," I tell him, "But don't you fuckin' dare abandon us."

"Ain't gonna. We're all gonna be just fine," he kisses me hard, grips my hand, then he's gone, Maggie trailing after him.

I find a breathing pattern that makes the contractions easier to bear and try to focus on what Hershel is saying.

Beth holds the baby; Glenn is undoubtedly on watch. Carl looks a li'l lost but eventually he comes, sits beside me, and grips my hand.

"I held my mom's hand," he tells me quietly, then, "Are you gonna die too, Angel?"

I shake my head.

"Nah, li'l dude. Your mama just got unlucky. She needed a c-section earlier. She started bleeding inside 'cause she wasn't supposed to have the baby that way. I ain't never had a baby so hopefully, I'll be okay."

I pause then squeeze his hand.

"Hey," I say, "If I could, I'd swap places with your mama."

To my surprise, Carl shakes his head.

"If you died, Daryl would go crazy. And we need him, maybe more than we need my dad."

"Don't say that," I say, and I would have said more but the baby is coming, and it's coming now.

"It's gonna be an impatient li'l – arrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh! – bastard, just like its daddy!" I manage to quip.

Hershel manages a small smile.

"You gotta make sure he comes back," I find myself sayin', "don't let him leave us…"

"We won't," Carl says, and then Hershel sticks a needle in my arm and I slip into a drowsy sort of state, feeling nothing but oblivious.

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Fifteen: Return & RequiemDaryl  
We get back, 'couple of walkers on our tail. Carl passes his baby sister over to me, and Beth hands me a bottle to feed the li'l ass kicker with.

"She got a name yet?" I try to ignore Angel's screams. She needs me, but I've been barred from the room.

"Not yet," says Carl, he pauses, "Though if me and Angel tie on names we're gonna flip a bullet."

There's a pause and then he names all the people we've lost, all the girls at least, names he's considering gifting his sister with. Me, I think that's bad luck. Angel's screams stop.

"You like that, li'l ass kicker?" I comment to the baby, "Like that, sweetheart?"

I pass the baby back to Carl.

"Y'all make sure you burp her when she's done." I glance at Beth, "Show him how."

I take the stairs two at a time. Don't be dead, please don't be dead, don't be fuckin' dead…

I burst into the cell that Angel and I have been sharing. Hershel blocks my way for a moment.

"She's alright. They're both all right. Natural birth, I gave her some morphine, some drugs to stop the bleeding. It's already almost over."

"A boy or a girl?" I demand, but Hershel doesn't answer, he merely steps aside, mumbling that he'll be outside.

From the bed, Angel smiles at me, and I see, for the first time, the child I helped her make.

Angel  
"Boy or girl?" Daryl asks, slowly approachin' us.

"A li'l girl," I say softly, "I offered to surrogate for Rick's kid… Hershel forbade it. Said I ain't strong enough."

"You ain't." Daryl says sharply, but his eyes soften when he sees her. Our baby. She's half-awake, peaceful, and most likely full.

She has his eyes, baby blue and beautiful, clear. Her hair is dark, like his too. Although it could be like mine, which is also dark naturally. I prefer to think she's like her daddy through and through. A fighter.

"Can I-?" Daryl doesn't finish the sentence. I'm sitting propped up, and I pat the space beside me. He sits and I pass our daughter to him.

"Gotta name?" he asks as he cradles her.

"I thought I'd let you pick," I say softly, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"You thought it was gonna be a boy in the end, didn't ya?" he grins.

I shake my head.

"No," I say, "it's just, if we'd had a boy, I'd have named him after you. Easy. With a girl… all I can think of is names of the dead."

Daryl grimaces.

"Carl's thinkin' the same shit with his sister."

We sit in silence for a li'l while, then he starts to hum, still cradling our baby.

"Mary Rose," he says when her eyes droop and she's fast asleep in his arms.

"Huh?" I blink, thinking he's talkin' to me.

"For her name. I know, 's a bit, y'know, trashy," he shrugs, "but you got a beautiful name, she should have one to match."

He almost blushes. I smile.

"You wanna name our daughter Mary Rose?" I ask.

"What? You don't like it?" he blinks.

With anyone else, probably not. But it's the end of the fuckin' world and the man I love isn't some rich asshole who likes fancy names. Because that ain't the sort of man I like. The man I love is a rough, tough-as-nails, crossbow-totin', redneck hillbilly with a heart o' gold. And I love the way her name falls from his mouth.

"I love it." I tell him softly.


End file.
